Need To
by Willowtreemuse
Summary: Naya's distressed over Brittana's unfair treatment. HeYa friendship! all that fun and flirty stuff.


"They just NEED to let Brittana have their kiss, damnit!" Naya raged, letting herself in to Heather's apartment

. Heather looked up from the magazine she was reading on the couch, amused.

"You mean us?" She giggled.

"NO, well, I mean - Naya slumped herself down next to her best friend. Looking down at her clenched hands she sighed, and HeMo reached over to grab one of them lightly. Noticing her friend's distress, she lifted it upwards and touched the palm lightly to her lips.

"Talk to me, Nay." She said with a slight frown. Naya leaned her head against Heather's shoulder, but couldn't bear to look at her as she spoke, instead staring up at the ceiling with false fascination.

"I'm just so frustrated. And I think they're not letting us do this kiss because Brittany and Santana are girls. Just girls, y'know? And I'm - well, you know - Santana is a lesbian. She's GAY HeMo. And they won't let her kiss her girlfriend!"

"Mhm," Heather hummed, her brow knit together as she watched Naya try to look anywhere but at her, "what else?" she pressed gently, reading her friend's hesitation like a book. Naya lifted her head and sat up straight, turning to face her and gripping her hand tightly.

"I usually tell you everything Heather. And you have to know.. I have kissed girls before. And not because it was fun, or because I was bored of boys. I kiss girls sometimes because I want to, because it feels right. To all those girls out there watching this show, who are probably as confused as I was at their age - Brittana just feels right too."

She dropped Heather's hand gently and returned her own into her lap, wringing them together once more, dropping her head brokenly.

"I just want to feel validated. I want those girls to feel special."

Heather listened intently through her whole speech, her eyes shining slightly with unshed tears.

"Hey, Naya. Nay, honey - it's okay" she soothed, smiling kindly and lifting her friend's chin up, making her look at her. "Let's make a deal. We'll - I dunno - we'll bribe the security guards to let us into the lot one night, and we'll light up that freaking choir room set…yea! We'll just turn all the lighting on and set up a crappy little home camera, we'll put on those costumes and we'll film a scene ourselves. We'll write it together. And Brittany will kiss Santana. She'll kiss the HELL outta her."

Naya let out a watery laugh, "Ryan, Ian, and Brad would never let that pass."

"No," Heather shook her head with mock sorrowfulness, a grin still creeping through, "they wouldn't. But when the show ends I'll make a twitter like you've always wanted, and that'll be the first thing I post. I'll hashtag it "Brittana Bitches" and it will be SUPER hot."

Naya leaped forward to crush her friend in a sudden hug.

"You're the best, Heather. I love you."

"Love you too, best friend" Heather sang out, clutching the girl tightly.

"What I told you…about me, that doesn't - it doesn't bother you does it?" Naya asked nervously into the crook of her neck after a moment or two of silence.

"What, that you like girls? Naya - nothing about you could ever bother me."

A pause, and a giggle.

"well, I'll be pretty disappointed if you're like, an awful kisser!"

Naya pulled back and growled, leaning in and looking just about ready to take on the challenge, but Heather launched her hand forward to her lips to block it and laughed, loudly. Naya licked her hand.

"EW! Naya!" she exclaimed, wrenching her hand away. She leaned in and gave the girl a chaste peck on the lips through their shared giggles.

"Woahhh," Naya teased, eyebrows wiggling, "save it for the camera baby."

"You can't wait, don't deny it." Heather teased right back.

"Oh I won't, hot stuff, I won't."

They leaned back into each other and laughed some more, content to just bask in each other's presence the rest of the night. And maybe watch an episode or two of The L Word. You know, for some writing tips, and stuff.


End file.
